Nevertheless, before an opportunity arrived to make use of the
intellectual machinery which my money had started into operation,
something occurred which almost threw the whole thing out of gear.
It was the evening after I had returned from Miss Clarke's office.
Both Charlotte and I had a premonition, after supper, that things
were going to happen. We all went into the parlour, sat down, and
waited.
Presently we started the gramophone. Jerome sat nearest the
instrument, where he could without rising, lean over and change
the records. And all three of us recall that the selection being
played at the moment was "I Am Climbing Mountains," a sentimental
little melody sung by a popular tenor. Certainly the piece was far
from being melancholy, mysterious, or otherwise likely to attract
the occult.
I remember that we played it twice, and it was just as the singer
reached the beginning of the final chorus that Charlotte, who sat
nearest the door, made a quick move and shivered, as though with
cold.
From where I sat, near the dining-room door, I could see through
into the hall. Charlotte's action made me think that the door
might have become unlatched, allowing a draught to come through.
Afterwards she said that she had felt something rather like a
breeze pass her chair.
In the middle of the room stood a long, massive table, of
conventional library type.
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